


Vivamus Atque Amemus

by Owlship



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, First Kiss, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post whatever the fuck the last book was, Unresolved Romantic Tension, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 00:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: "At least look at me when I'm trying to pour my heart out to you, wench."She turns to glare at him then, the dwindling firelight catching on the flesh carved out of her cheek, making it seem even more gruesome than it is in daylight. "You're doing no such thing," she says, words almost sullen.





	Vivamus Atque Amemus

**Author's Note:**

> First and so far only fic written with these two, originally posted [on tumblr](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com/post/166482915941/there-is-little-that-gets-me-more-about)!
> 
> Title is paraphrased from [Catullus 5](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus_5), and means "Let us live and let us love"

It's the scars that are getting to him, he thinks. The tangled mess of her cheek that should probably still be under a bandage, the ring of rope burn around her neck, the tenderness in her recently broken arm. Her eyes, downcast.

Eyes that used to be so open and guileless, clear as a summer's sky, and now she won't even look at him to show him the one redeeming feature on her face.

"I knew you were lying," Jaime says.

That gets him a quick darting glance, a shoulder drawn up defensively before being shaken back out, stance ready again should her sword be required. "I expected you would," she says. Her voice is still hoarse, a change that he can't help but wonder if it's permanent. If the rope that nearly hanged her- not that she'd _told him_ that's what the mark is from, as if he would remain ignorant of its origin for more than a few moments after meeting the Brotherhood Without Banners- did more damage than what he can see on the surface.

"I knew you were lying and I went anyway," he repeats, in case she's feeling particularly slow on the uptake.

Brienne blows a breath out through her nose and says nothing this time.

"I didn't get my men to follow us," he says, "Didn't question what could be so dire as to have your honor-bound mouth spouting lies."

She stabs at the embers of their little fire with a stick, and Jaime shakes his head to himself.

"At least look at me when I'm trying to pour my heart out to you, wench."

She turns to glare at him then, the dwindling firelight catching on the flesh carved out of her cheek, making it seem even more gruesome than it is in daylight. "You're doing no such thing," she says, words almost sullen.

"Am I not?" he says, and pretends to be surprised of her pronouncement, looking around like he needs to take stock of himself. "There's no bath here, that's true, but we can still get naked if that's the only way you'll take my words."

"Why haven't you gone back to your camp?" Brienne asks, dismissing his comments and looking away again. She doesn't even blush at the reminder of their time at Harrenhal which is the sort of petty disappointment that strikes deeper than it should. She would have blushed, he's sure, before she went through what earned her those scars. Before he gave her a sword and a quest with barely a prayer's chance of success.

"If you'd listen maybe you'd have your answer," he says. He's growing irritated; she was never the most talkative, but this silence has an altogether different texture than what he's used to from her.

"Your men surely need you," she says to the fire. "Your _sister_."

Jaime doesn't think she meant to add that hint of vitriol to the word, but he hears it all the same. "I'm here with you," he says, "Gods, wench, does nothing get through that thick skull of yours? My men will be fine with their orders and my sist-" He cuts himself off, unable to talk about Cersei with her. Not now.

"My name's not wench," Brienne says softly, reflexively.

"Brienne," he says, equally as soft. She looks over at him again, those big eyes sad and tired. Resigned. "You know why I followed you."

"Because you're a good man," she says without hesitation, looking miserable as she says it.

He wonders if she's being dense on purpose, or if she truly doesn't understand that he'd willingly follow her into such a trap again, should she ask. It's not often that words fail him but she's so sullen, so quiet, he doesn't know how to continue. So Jaime uses his actions instead, and reaches out with his remaining hand to grab the back of her head and pull her in so he can kiss her thick lips.

She startles and jerks away, or tries to, but he anticipated her resistance and doesn't let her go. "Brienne," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against hers while she stands stock-still, "That's not why I followed you."

She doesn't kiss him back, only lifts her hands to his chest like she can't decide whether to push him away or not. For just a moment Jaime indulges himself, tasting her lips the way he's spent too long dwelling on, before he draws back to take in her expression.

Her eyes are wide, but her brow is quickly drawing down angrily. "I'm not your whore," Brienne says, and finally uses her hands to push him away.

He can't help it; he breaks into a laugh as he takes a stumbling step back, incongruous as the noise is to the moment. "You are anything but a whore," he says. She's the most stubbornly honorable woman he's ever met, and that kiss was practically chaste enough to be shared with a septa.

Her face is red now, but he doesn't know if it's a flush of anger or not. It makes the scar on her cheek look more vivid, as if the raw flesh needed any help there, would make the muddy freckles on her skin stand out if there was enough light to see them by.

"Do not mock me," she says, staring straight into his eyes with a gaze that's growing suspiciously wet looking. That's hardly the kind of wetness he'd hoped to inspire in her, and he reaches out for her again, golden hand brushing against the fabric of her cloak.

"I don't mock," Jaime says, and when she doesn't retreat from his deadened touch he takes a small step closer again.

But she jerks away with a shake of her head, shoulders pulling in tight, as if anything could possibly diminish her presence. "What do you _want_?" she asks, her hoarse voice quavering. "Why did you…"

She can't seem to say the words. "Why did I kiss you?" he says, and takes a shred of delight in the way even the tips of her ears are dark red. "The same reason any man may kiss a woman."

Brienne shakes her head, straw-like hair swinging with the motion. It's been freshly shorn, no longer reaching near to her shoulders. "Not me," she says.

"Do you always feel so sorry for yourself?" he inquires. "I followed you into a trap I could have seen blind. I gave you the finest blade I'd ever held. I jumped between you and a bear with naught but my one hand. I risked my neck for you and the strays you've picked up. I've told you things that no one knows, not even my twin. What more would you have of me?"

"You've already given me far too much, Ser," she says, retreating though she moves no further from him bodily.

"I want _you_ , Brienne," Jaime says as if she hadn't spoken. "That's why I kissed you. That's why I would kiss you again, if you'd have me."

She looks woefully confused now, staring at him as if he's begun speaking in tongues, and slowly shakes her head again.

"Gods, but I'd forgotten how stubborn you are," he says mostly to himself, and only doesn't lean in to just kiss the confusion off her face and _make_ her believe him because he's fairly certain she would run away for real if he tried. That and because he's pretty sure he can hear the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching, no doubt that hedgeknight and the boy come back from trying to hunt down dinner in the growing dark. "May I kiss you, my lady?" he asks despite their soon-to-be-lack of privacy, dropping his voice just in case the noise carries through the woods.

Brienne's mouth falls open and closed again, like she's trying to form words but can't quite manage it, and he sees the exact moment she catches the sound of Hunt and Pod returning. Her expression turns from confusion to _hurt_ , and before he can decipher the cause of it she turns away from him.

The interruption is just as well, really, since he doesn't think he would be able to get through the tough armor she's built up around herself in a single night anyway, though the fact that she hasn't demanded his head as payment for impugning her honor with that kiss gives him hope. There does beat a maiden's heart deep down in her after all, something soft and fluttery and willing to be convinced to give in to what he is sure she wants as well, and at least in this his own stubborn nature is match enough for hers.


End file.
